


honey, you're a bad bitch.

by hyuckduck



Category: GOT7, K-pop
Genre: Gen, M/M, but the aus are cool, just changed the names lmao, she a bad bitch, she's amazin af send her your love, these are all unrelated pieces i wrote many years ago, this is a birthday gift for my friend crazyforjjp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-02-05 04:26:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12786933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyuckduck/pseuds/hyuckduck
Summary: a series of unconnected short pieces of writings about my friend's favorite got7 ships (this is a birthday gift for her lmao)1. jaebum/jackson: la!boy jaebum and his bff!jackson + soft pining2. mark/yugyeom: soulmates au + dancer au3. jinyoung/youngjae: screenplay writer!youngjae + film critic!jinyoung4. mark/jaebum: ghosts au5. jaebum/bambam: musician!defsoul and back up dancer!bambam + hip hop artist mark6. jaebum/jinyoung: dancer!jb and pianist!jinyoung, best friends who maybe in love??7. ot7 - growing up au





	honey, you're a bad bitch.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gyucci](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gyucci/gifts).



  1. **[CONFESSION SONG – GOT7]**



**[Jaebum/Jackson]**

Jackson kicks a pebble on the road. “This is nice,” he observes, head turned up to look at the row of palm trees on the side. Or he might have been looking at the birds flying overhead, or the American flag that hung from Jaebum’s neighbor’s door. It’s difficult to tell what’s on his mind all the time. “So this is your turf, huh?”

“It’s my hometown, yes,” Jaebum replies, dryly, and doesn’t condemn the use of the word “turf” even though he desperately wants to tell his best friend that he doesn’t call LA _that_ , “it’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Jackson doesn’t immediately reply. Instead, he keeps his eyes locked on a couple of kids who skate around Jaebum’s house, yelling and downing soda cans and laughing with the glee that only the youth have, and he watches them with a kind of curiosity. Jaebum used to be like that: he can still remember his old skateboard (Ariel at first, and then Eric when Jaebum realized what team he _really_ played for) and all the noise complaints his parents would get, and those stupid snapbacks. He grins a little.

Jackson clears his throat. “I have something to tell you, but you have to promise you won’t kick me in the throat.”

“I won’t kick you in the throat, ever,” Jaebum says, and sits on the pavement (a potential hazard: Mark is always begging him to be a little safer, but Jaebum’s a bit of a daredevil, as he always has been) and motions Jackson to come closer. Jackson plops himself down and even crosses his legs. Jaebum is glad to see him slowly adapting to his environment.

There’s another long pause.

“Okay,” Jackson exhales. He looks like someone has shoved rusted nails down his throat and made him down them with mustard. He opens his mouth, and then shuts it again. And then crumples his face like he’s actually pained. Jaebum is about to ask him if he’s okay, and then he says, “here it goes.”

Jaebum narrows his eyes. “Are you okay?”

“Jaebum,” Jackson says, too loudly, and the kids who were skating stop and turn around to eavesdrop, “ _I’m so into you, I can barely breathe_.”

Jaebum’s blood freezes. “ _What_?”

“ _And all I want to do_ ,” Jackson continues, and he looks pathetically nervous and like he wishes he could stop but he can’t, “ _is to fall in deep. But close ain’t close enough, til we cross the line. So name a game to play, and I’ll roll the dice.”_

Jaebum … cannot fucking believe that this is happening to him. He’s sitting on the sidewalk of a street in LA, his legs stretched out on the road where an eighteen-wheeler could easily drive over them, and his best friend of almost five years is confessing to him by using Ariana Grande lyrics. Jaebum, who has never been confessed to in his all twenty three years of life, is being confessed to, by his best friend of five years. Jackson Wang, comedy extraordinaire and the prettiest boy Jaebum’s ever seen, is sitting nervously next to him, avoiding his eyes, and is quoting Ariana Grande.

And he’s _confessing_ to him.

Jackson groans and lowers his head into his hands. He deflates and discreetly edges away from Jaebum. Mortification is a good look on Jackson: Jaebum always used to say that. Jaebum’s brain is whirring five thousand miles an hour. He’s probably in some inner spiritual plane right now. It’s the only logical explanation. Jaebum is just Jaebum: but Jackson, he’s extraordinary.

“Just leave me to die,” Jackson says.

“Jackson,” Jaebum starts, “did you just confess to me?”

“Using Ariana Grande lyrics? Yes.” Jackson sulks. He puts his hat back on: in a last ditch attempt to shield himself from Jaebum’s stare, and Jaebum can’t help but gape at him. “It was Jinyoung’s idea. He was higher than kite at Mark-hyung’s birthday and he was like, _dude, you should just monotonously recite Into You for Jaebum_.” Jackson winces. “I realize now that it was probably a bad idea. Sorry.”

It hits him like a brick wall. Jackson _likes_ him. As in, Jackson thinks that Jaebum is pretty and nice and enjoys his company and wants to be more than friends with him. As in, Jackson looks at Jaebum when he’s not looking and blushes at every brush of skin and wants to take him on stupid dates. As in, Jackson (his pretty lips and his pretty eyes, the smile worth a million dollars) was looking at Jaebum this whole time.

And Jaebum never noticed.

“Wow,” Jaebum breathes.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Jackson says, hurriedly, “I just wanted to let you know. In case I’m saddled with a lifetime of regrets or whatever. I don’t do regrets, man.”

“Hey, it’s fine,” Jaebum waves a hand, and wonders where his cool is coming from. His heart feels like it’s about to expand straight out of his ribs and splatter itself against the concrete road. Jackson looks away. Jaebum really tries to not to do it, but he figures there’s no other way he’ll get Jackson to look him in the eye again. “ _Oh, baby look what you started_.”

Jackson groans. “Oh no.”

“ _The temperature’s rising in here, is this gonna happen_?” Jaebum breaks out into a dramatic dance. “ _Been waiting and waiting for you to make a move. Before I make a move._ ”

“But you don’t like me back,” Jackson points out.

“No, but I might,” Jaebum says, and the stunned look on Jackson’s face means the world to Jaebum. He’s always told himself that he’ll give chances to whoever confesses. Jaebum’s just dense. “Take me on a date and I’ll decide how serious you are about me, Jackson Wang.”

A pause.

“So you’ll come light me up?” Jackson grins.

“And then I’ll let you on it,” Jaebum promises, and he decides that his new favorite sound is the sound of home mingled with Jackson’s laugh.

**2\. [THE START OF SOMETHING NEW – Vanessa Hudgens + Drew Seely]**

**[Mark/Yugyeom]**

He doesn’t know it’s Mark at first, because they’re both paired up at random for a contemporary routine at university. They haven’t exchanged anything aside from _hellos_ but they’ve sized each other up already. He can’t tell what Mark’s decided about him yet: he seems like the difficult type to read, impossible to take apart. The boy is small, narrow shoulders and lithe grace and soft hair brushed over his eyes. He looks like a good dancer.

Warm-ups are done separately. Mark speaks to him quietly, explains that he doesn’t really lead much, and proceeds to launch into what sounds like a pre-prepared lecture about the piece they’re dancing to. _Just to Hear Your Voice,_ by some kid from the music composition department called ARS, is Mark’s choice because it’s a nice, slow piece which is easy to choreograph to. Yugyeom listens to the mellow accent and the pretty tone the boy speaks with even though he’s bored to death.

Mark very carefully doesn’t touch him until their teacher mentions that they’re going to have to start building trust eventually.

And then it gets complicated.

He expects it to hurt. (He’d stayed up listening to Jinyoung screaming the whole night when he’d gotten marked for the first time, and he just assumes it’ll hurt for him too.) The touches aren’t physical, nor are they etched onto skin permanently, but he expects it to burn, at the very least. Instead, the first time Mark touches him, inexperienced, unsure fingers fumbling to curl around his wrist, there is nothing, and then there is everything at once. Budding flowers at the point where his fingertips brush on the skin, saturated with color and brightness. Vines on his forearm when Mark startles and drags his hand away.

“Found you,” Mark says, and looks like he’s trying not to panic as the sunflower petals bloom on Yugyeom’s forearm. “Um, what’s the protocol for this again?”

The first note of _Just to Hear Your Voice_ rings in the room and Yugyeom smiles, “I think this is the part where we go on a date or something?”

Mark laughs and Yugyeom’s heart, strangely light, flutters in his ribcage.

**3\. [TIC TICK TOCK – GOT7]**

**[Jinyoung/Youngjae]**

Choi Youngjae sees him for the first time at the release party of someone else’s film.

The man had been writing on a stray paper instead of socializing the entire time. Long hair obscuring his eyes, head bent and arm splayed to strategically cover whatever he was scribbling. The same way Youngjae had done all those years ago in high school, writing bits and pieces of scenes on the margins of his textbook instead of listening to the lecture. He’s older than him – there’s a sophistication in the way he holds himself, shoulders straight and face void of any emotion – but the way he looks when writing is almost childish. (Like someone will read over his shoulder, and the natural defensiveness in his posture is almost nostalgic to him.) Youngjae can’t stop looking at him.

The man doesn’t stop writing the whole night. He doesn’t talk to anyone and waves dismissively when people come to speak to him or buy him drinks. (He doesn’t touch a single flute of champagne they leave at his table either. He must have a heart of steel.) Youngjae watches him brush the hair out of his eyes and stretch his fingers and yawn slightly, watches the sharp dip of his jaw and his curved mouth. He wonders if he writes screenplays, or maybe novels. _Maybe he’s an actor_ , he muses, _he’s certainly hot enough to be one._

“That’s Park Jinyoung,” the writer of the film tells him when he sees Youngjae stare, mouth pursed in a cold, angry smile, “he’s a film critic and he’s never praised anyone’s work before. Always finds something wrong with something and points out something’s flaws. Royal douche, if you ask me.”

But Youngjae isn’t listening, because the man looks up and catches his eye just when Youngjae’s distracted enough to not look away. Dark, hazy eyes focus on him through a curtain of long, ebony hair. He’s easy to look at despite the bad lighting and the bangs obscuring most of his face. When he realizes that he’s being blatantly stared at, he blinks and looks away. He’s gone in the half a second it takes for Youngjae to blink.

He leaves the napkin behind. Youngjae picks it up with surprising discretion and finds the words _lack of realism coupled with bad casting choices and several other novice errors on the director’s part_ among many other scathing remarks. _Pathetic storyline, shit character development, Mary Sue moments – an insult to short film making, disturbing lack of diversity in characters, failed to stick to the point of the plot, cheesy dialogues,_ he’s written.

It takes Youngjae a long time to realize that it’s pointing out all the flaws his colleague’s film.

 _Maybe he’ll be at my next film premier,_ Youngjae thinks, _I could give this back then._

Unsure of why, he grins and pockets the napkin.

**4\. [INSTRUMENTAL: SMILE FLOWER – SEVENTEEN]**

**[Mark/Jaebum]**

Jaebum watches the soul crawl out of Mark. He keeps his cold eyes locked on the ivory bath tub turning red with the blood that drips off the curve of his pretty, dainty wrist. He doesn’t tear his eyes away even as Mark cuts another parallel line onto his skin, like he’s bored and needs to occupy himself as he dies. He dyed his hair red: a befitting quality for all the blood he has no problem being around. He cuts himself seven times, gulps a handful of pills, leans his head on the bathtub until the bridge of his nose is touching the surface of the red bubbles, and he closes his eyes.

“Hyung,” Jaebum calls, just to see if Mark would open his eyes like he used to whenever Jaebum called him all those years ago, to see if Mark would look at him again with his bright eyes that reminded Jaebum of simpler times, to see if he’d say, _yes, baby?_ , like he used to. He doesn’t, obviously. Mark doesn’t even hear him. His voice bounces off the room and lands on deaf ears.

Mark breathes in.

Breathes out.

Repeats the process for another five minutes.

And then he inhales, exhales, and never does so again.

Jaebum is there to catch his soul before it drifts off. He catches him by the forearm and pulls him closer to lace their fingers together even though he knows he doesn’t have to. Tugs him by the hair, barely registers the droplets of diluted blood on Mark, and kisses him like it’s the last time he’ll ever see him. A lie. They have the rest of their cursed lives together. Maybe this time, Mark can say the words _I love you_ without feeling like he’s suffocating, and maybe this time, Jaebum can hold him without feeling like he might burn himself.

Mark brushes the tips of his fingers across Jaebum’s cheek. He feels dead, but he opens his eyes and kisses him back like they’re sixteen years old and running away  from their problems again, like they’re seventeen and kissing on bridges Mark talked him out of jumping and outside hospitals after Jaebum had gotten Mark in there after he’d overdosed. Like it hasn’t been a year, like Mark hadn’t held Jaebum’s cold hand after he’d died and begged him not to go, to _stay with hyung, baby, you promised you’d stay_ , like he hadn’t cried for thirty minutes even after the doctors had told him to get the hell out, like he hadn’t punched Jaebum’s gravestone until his knuckles bled after the funeral and cried every night and screamed _it’s not fucking fair why did you go why did you die I miss you so much you jackass don’t you care about me I love you I love you I love you please come back_ at the gravestone each time he visited. Like he didn’t just die in front of Jaebum and Jaebum hadn’t died in front of him.

“Hyung,” he still says, and brushes the damp hair out of his eyes and thinks, _don’t fade away._

Mark smiles, and it’s broken and curved in all the wrong places, but it reminds Jaebum of the spring they fell stupidly in love in, the flowers and the wind, and closes his eyes when Mark says, “I’m here, beautiful,” and even if it’s for a lone moment and he can’t feel Mark’s pulse on his neck, it’s alright.

**5\. [DESERVE – Kris Wu + Travis Scott]**

**[Jaebum/Bambam]**

The party is Mark’s idea. He volunteers to pick Jaebum up from his studio so they can “have a good time, baby,” and at first, Jaebum’s sort of gullible enough to think that it’s just Mark calling for a quick fuck or whatever, but the moment Mark pulls up at the driveway and a whole fuckton of noise greets Jaebum, reporters included, and he knows he’s wrong. Mark’s brought him out to socialize. As in, talk to the people he’s spent his whole career avoiding.

Like a very good friend, Mark places a blunt between Jaebum’s lips before dragging him to meet important people. Not that there’s any concrete communication, or whatever. Jaebum’s disgusted to note that Mark is one of those narcissistic fuckers who only plays his own songs at his own parties, and the bass is too fucking loud for anyone to hear anything over all the noise. He meets a few people he talks to at occasional award shows, nods in acknowledgment and doesn’t talk at all. They should be blessed that he’s even here, gracing them with his presence.

And then _he_ shows up, obviously.

And by that, Jaebum means that he catches sight of _Bambam_ at the bar, bopping his head very slowly to the beat of Mark’s first hit song, _Bad Bitch_. He looks even better than the last time Jaebum laid eyes on him (on the last leg of Jaebum’s world tour, backstage with his hair swept up and sweat running tantalizingly low on the dip of his collars, shirt sticking to his skin and breathless from all the dancing he’d done) and it does something exciting to him. It doesn’t even look like he’s trying too hard. Small waist, skinny jeans and the long, exposed neck. Leather jacket slung over the stool he’s sitting on, choker around his throat and bracelets on his wrist. He’s sexy in a very subtle way.

So yes, long story short, Jaebum kind of sort of really wants to fuck him even though they worked together.

Bambam locks eyes with him and waves him over.

Jaebum smirks and heads off to find his treasure.

This party doesn’t seem like a bad idea now that he has a concrete goal in his mind.

 6.  **[OOH AH – Twice]**

**[Jaebum/Jinyoung]**

If he’s being really honest, becoming social media friends with Jaebum is the biggest regret of Jinyoung’s whole life.

Or maybe becoming _friends_ with Jaebum in general is the biggest regret of his life, except Jinyoung has no concrete way of telling because they’ve known each other for their whole lives and he can’t remember how it feels like to not be around the fucker anymore. He practically _forced_ Jinyoung to call him hyung even though they’re the same age and has consistently proved himself to be the worst person to ever exist by using his hyung privilege to get out of everything, including going to the vending machine to get his own fucking drink and babysitting his own younger brother. (Jinyoung did all his work for him. Jinyoung practically _raised_ Youngjae.) He’s the absolute worst. There’s just nothing that can be said to describe how _annoying_ he could be when he wanted to.

But Jaebum on social media is just a whole new level.

He is essentially always shirtless in his stories, like he needs to flash his abs every three seconds or the people will forget what he looks like, and he’s always either with Mark or in the gym. If neither of those things, he’s either b-boying on someone’s floor or taking snaps of Beyoncé while she smiles at the back up dancers. (Another thing: he’s touring the world with _Beyoncé_ , as her backup dancer, and Jinyoung’s petty because he brags about it all the time.) He’s a fuckboy, which probably shouldn’t be that surprising. Jaebum’s always been one of those boys who just needs a slight _push_ before they go all-out.

And honestly, Jinyoung’s happy he’s out there living his own life. It’s nice to see him so fucking free, tattoos on his arms and metal studs on his mouth, because that’s what he always wanted to do. He acts a bit grown up these days too, which is a good sign, and whenever Jinyoung goes to LA, he shows him all his favorite places and he rolls down the windows of his car and closes his eyes with the wind even though he’s driving. He sees a kind of relaxation in Jaebum that would never have been there if he stayed where he was.

It’s just that:

“Why is it so difficult to put on a shirt?” Jinyoung asks Jackson one day, face down on the floor of the studio and holding up his phone with a pathetic expression. Jackson takes one good look at the stupid video on someone’s Twitter with Jinyoung’s stupid best friend flexing his stupid muscles in the mirror and smirking his stupid fuckboy smirk while Mark attempts to do the same, (he’s just a noodle in comparison, but not the point) and whistles. _Loudly_. “Like, why?”

“Wow,” Jackson grins, “Man, he really went hard. I thought he’d gain a shit ton of weight and lose all his muscles when he moved to LA, but _damn_ , hyung still looks good. Can you ask him what he does for arm day?”

Jinyoung stares. “You ask him.”

“But he’ll laugh at me,” Jackson says, like Jinyoung is the stupid one, and he’s probably right. Jaebum has yet to understand the concept of treating others with respect, and he frequently laughs his ass off at all the minor fuck-ups people around him occasionally do. One time, he’d been visiting Jinyoung at the studio (embarrassing him in front of his coworkers by ruffling his hair and treating him like a kid, but Jinyoung hadn’t complained because Jaebum treated him to barbeque later and it’s always fun to watch him flinch whenever the bill comes up) and he’d seen an intern walk into a wall and he’d laughed so hard that he had to leave the room.

Jinyoung flops over, rolling his eyes. “He’ll laugh at me too. He’ll just go,” and pettily, Jinyoung sticks his jaw out and imitates Jaebum’s stupid smirk, “ _yah, Jinyoung-ah, is the world ending or did you just ask me about working out?_ ” He sneers. “I’m not walking into that one. You do it yourself.”

“Fair enough,” Jackson hums, and then there’s a pause, “also, his friend is cute. You should introduce us.”

Jinyoung shuts his phone off. “Mark-hyung is like a noodle, though.”

Jackson flexes. “I have enough for like, twenty people. It’s cool.”

“Get your violin, thirsty bitch,” Jinyoung presses a key on the piano experimentally, “if we wrap this album up before March, I’ll let you meet Mark-hyung.”

**7\. [You Are – GOT7]**

**[OT7]**

It’s Mark’s idea to sneak out of the group home when all the adults are asleep. He gets Bambam and Yugyeom up and he’s the one who wrenches the big, rusty window in Jaebum’s room open with a crowbar. He helps Youngjae down and shuts the window on his own when the last of them are out. They don’t take the car – instead, they walk on foot. Bambam is holding onto Jinyoung’s sleeve so that he doesn’t fall asleep mid-step, and Jaebum keeps his grip strong on Yugyeom’s arm and Jackson watches all of them with hawk-eyes to make sure no one passes out.

Mark leads the way.

Jinyoung watches the city pass them with each step. The trees he’d grown up near and hadn’t touched. The streets that burned his feet when he walked on his worn-out shoes. The flowers that the trees rained at winter. The pathetic bookstore down the street that Jaebum always got his gift for Jinyoung from. Everything looks dull and cold. He shuffles closer to Bambam when the shadows start to dance.

“Hey,” Jaebum calls, “where are we going?”

“For a walk, dipshit,” Mark smiles, and a dimple appears on his left cheek, “don’t you want to see the fireworks?”

They haven’t been to see the firework in years, not since their old caretaker died anyway. The new one didn’t want them leaving the house. Said it made them look uncultured and pathetic. They went to school and came straight back and avoided social interactions unless it was with each other. It always made everyone sad whenever they talked about it. It was the one time of the year that they could go out and do their own thing.

There are no fireworks yet, but the cold forces them to move faster to the park. They all lay down on the grass despite the humidity and laugh when Bambam accidentally eats dirt. Yugyeom sings Zion T and Jaebum reluctantly joins in when Youngjae wheedles him to it.

It occurs later to Jinyoung that Mark might have taken them out to see the fireworks to say goodbye. He’s almost eighteen now. The home will kick him out next year. Jaebum will leave too. And then eventually Jackson will go, and then Jinyoung will go. Youngjae, Bambam and Yugyeom will leave too. The only thing that had held them together was how desolate, isolated and angry they were at the rest of the world.

And what of them now?

Jinyoung inhales.

He exhales like his lungs are made of rubber.

“I won’t leave without you guys,” Mark says, and immediately, everyone perks up, “I can’t legally live in the group home after I turn eighteen, but I’ll come visit. I’ll come to your school, treat you out to real food, help you with your homework and shit that regular older brothers do. Hell, I’ll fight the people who want to date you guys and become the greatest ever,” he lets out a chuckle, “but I won’t ditch. I promise.”

“Neither will I,” Jaebum pipes up. He’s been strangely quiet about this whole leaving affair.

Jinyoung doesn’t know what the fuck a family is. He’s never had one, never seen one, and he’s never even wanted to begin with. But he imagines it looks like this. A reassuring presence, words of comfort and promises that don’t sound empty. Youngjae sniffles and curls even further into Mark. Yugyeom discreetly wipes away a tear and Bambam is full on crying, but it’s dark and they’re all pretending not to see. Jackson rubs at his eyes.

Jinyoung doesn’t talk in fear of saying something he shouldn’t.

Jaebum grins. “It’s all of us or nothing, right?”, and then the fireworks go off.


End file.
